Cruel as the grave free download

Start Reading About this Book About the Author Reviews About this Series Table of Contents www.headofzeus.com To Molly Friedrich Jealousy is cruel as the grave —Song of Solomon 8:6-7 I April 1193 Tower of London England They were intimate enemies, bound by blood Here in the torchlit splendor of the Chapel of St John the Evangelist, they’d fought yet another of their battles As always, there was no winner They’d inflicted wounds that would be slow to heal, and that, too, was familiar Nothing had changed, nothing had been resolved But never had the stakes been so high It shimmered in the shadows between them, the ultimate icon of power: England’s royal crown Few knew better than Eleanor of Aquitaine how seductive that power could be In her youth, she’d wed the French king, then left him for the man who would become King of England That passionate, turbulent marriage of love and hate was part of her distant, eventful past; if Henry’s unquiet ghost still stalked the realm of marital memory, she alone knew it Now in her seventy-first year, she was England’s revered Dowager Queen, rising above the ruins of her life like a castle impervious to assault If her fabled beauty had faded, her wit had not, and her will was as finely honed as the sword of her most celebrated son, Richard Lionheart, the crusader king languishing in a German prison But she was much more than Richard’s mother, his invincible ally: She was his only hope The torches sputtered in their wall sconces, sending up wavering fingers of flame The silence grew louder by the moment, thudding in her ears like an army’s drumbeat She watched as he paced, this youngest of her eaglets John, Count of Mortain and Earl of Gloucester, would-be king He seethed with barely suppressed fury, giving off almost as much heat as those erratic torches His spurs struck white sparks against the tiled floor, and the swirl of his mantle gave her a glimpse of the sword at his hip This might be her last chance to reach him, to avert calamity What could she say that he would heed? What threat was likely to work? What promise? “I will not allow you to steal Richard’s crown,” she said tautly “Understand that if you understand nothing else, John As long as I have breath in my body, I will oppose you in this As will the justiciars.” “You think so?” he scoffed “They held fast today, but who knows what may happen on the morrow? They might well decide that England would be better served by a living king than a dead one!” “Richard is not dead.” “How can you be so sure of that, Madame? Have you second-sight? Or is this merely a doting mother’s lapse into maudlin sentimentality?” Beneath his savage sarcasm, she caught echoes of an emotion he would never acknowledge: a jealousy more bitter than gall “Bring us back incontrovertible proof of Richard’s death,” she said, “and we will then consider your claim to the throne.” John’s eyes showed sudden glints of green “You mean you would weigh my claim against Arthur’s, you not?” “Richard named his nephew as his heir I did not,” she said pointedly “Must I remind you that you are my son, flesh of my flesh? Why would I not want the kingship for you?” “That is a question I’ve often asked myself.” “If you’d have me say it, listen, then I want you to be king Not Arthur— you.” He could not hide a flicker of surprise “You almost sound as if you mean that.” “I do, John,” she said “I swear by all the saints that I do.” For a moment, he hesitated, and she thought she’d got to him “But not whilst Brother Richard lives?” “No,” she said, very evenly, “not whilst Richard lives.” The silence that followed seemed endless to her She’d always found it difficult to read his thoughts, could never see into his soul He was a stranger in so many ways, this son so unlike Richard His eyes locked upon hers, with a hawk’s unblinking intensity Whatever he’d been seeking, he did not find, though, for his mouth twisted into a sardonic, mirthless smile “Alas,” he said, “I’ve never been one for waiting.” Justin de Quincy paused in the doorway of the queen’s great hall Never had he seen so many highborn lords at one time, barons of the realm and princes of the Church and all of the justiciars: Walter de Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen; William Marshal; Geoffrey Fitz Peter; William Brewer; and Hugh Bardolf These were men of rank and privilege, milling about now like so many lost sheep, agitated and uneasy What was amiss? William Longsword was standing a few feet away and Justin headed in his direction He felt an instinctive sense of kinship to the other man, for they were both outsiders Will was a king’s bastard, half-brother to Richard and John, raised at court but never quite belonging like Justin himself He hadn’t been as lucky as Will, had grown up believing himself to be an orphan, the unwanted child of an unnamed wanton who’d died giving him birth Only several months ago had he learned the truth He was no foundling The man who’d taken him in as a much-praised act of Christian charity was the man who’d sired him, Aubrey de Quincy, Bishop of Chester That stunning revelation had turned Justin’s world upside down, and he was still struggling to come to terms with it He had no right to the name de Quincy, had claimed it at the whimsical suggestion of the woman who’d become his unlikely patroness That act of prideful defiance had given him no satisfaction, for it was like paying a debt with counterfeit coin He had a new identity, a new life He was still haunted, though, by the life he’d left behind, by the father who’d refused to acknowledge him “Justin!” Will had an easy smile, an affable manner, and none of his halfbrothers’ unsated hunger for lands, honours, and kingship “When did you get back from Winchester? Come here, lad, there is someone I want you to meet.” William Marshal, Lord of Striguil and Pembroke, was a very wealthy man, holding vast estates in South Wales by right of his wife, a great heiress A justiciar, sheriff of Gloucestershire, a baron who cherished hopes of being invested with an earldom, Marshal was one of the most influential men in the kingdom, and Justin greeted him somewhat shyly, for he was not yet accustomed to breathing the rarefied air of the royal court Just a few brief months ago, he’d been a nobody, a bastard of unknown parentage serving as a squire with no hopes of advancement, and now he was “The queen’s man,” Will said heartily, clapping Justin playfully on the shoulder “De Quincy is the lad I told you about, William, the one who brought Queen Eleanor the news that Richard was captured on his way home from the crusade.” It seemed strange to Justin to hear it spoken of so openly now, for the secret of that bloodstained letter had nearly cost him his life He could only marvel at the random nature of fate, at the improbable series of events that had been set in motion by his decision to ride out of Winchester on a snowy Epiphany morn Because he’d stumbled onto the ambush of the queen’s messenger, he’d found himself entangled in a conspiracy of kings, matching wits with the queen’s son John and a murderous outlaw known as Gilbert the Fleming, sharing his bed with a seductive temptress who’d broken his heart with her betrayal, and winning a prize greater than the Holy Grail—the queen’s favor Will was praising him so lavishly now that Justin flushed, both pleased and discomfited to be hailed as a hero For most of his twenty years, compliments had been rarer than dragon’s teeth; he could remember nary a one ever coming out of his father’s mouth “My lords, may I ask what has occurred here? I’ve been to wakes that were more cheerful than this assemblage.” He hesitated briefly then, but he’d earned the right to ask “Has there been bad news about the king?” “No—as far as we know, nothing has changed; Richard remains the prisoner of that whoreson emperor of the Romans The trouble is closer to home.” Will’s face had taken on so unhappy a cast that Justin realized the trouble must involve John, for he knew the man harbored a genuine fondness for his younger brother It was William Marshal who confirmed his suspicions, saying brusquely, “John summoned the justiciars to meet him this morn here at the Tower He then claimed that Richard is dead and demanded that we recognize him as the rightful king.” Justin was startled; he hadn’t expected John to make so bold a move “They did not agree?” “Of course not We told him that we have no proof of the king’s death and until we do, the only king we will recognize is Richard.” Justin felt a surge of relief; he hadn’t been sure the other justiciars would be as resolute as Marshal and the Archbishop of Rouen The bleak truth was that they could not be utterly sure that Richard still lived If he had sickened and died in confinement, the crown would be John’s for the taking, for few were likely to support his rival claimant, a five-year-old boy dwelling in Brittany So it was only to be expected that the justiciars would be loath to antagonize the man who might well be their next king, a man who forgot little, forgave even less “What happened then?” “John flew into a rage,” Will said sadly, “and made some ugly threats The queen then insisted that they speak in private, and they withdrew to her chapel If anyone in Christendom can talk some sense into John, for certes it will be the queen.” Will did not sound very sanguine, though, and Marshal, a man known for speaking his mind plainly, gave a skeptical snort “Would you care to wager on that, Will? I could use some extra money.” He went on to express his opinion of John’s honour in far-from-flattering terms By then Justin was no longer listening, for Claudine de Loudun was coming toward them The men welcomed her with enthusiasm—the young widow was a favorite with both Williams All three engaged in some mildly flirtatious bantering, while Justin stood conspicuously silent, dreading what was to come Even as she teased the other men, Claudine’s dark eyes kept wandering toward Justin, her gaze at once caressing and questioning Finally she cast propriety to the winds and linked her arm through his, murmuring throatily that she needed a private word with Master de Quincy Both Wills grinned broadly and waved them on, for Claudine’s clandestine liaison with Justin de Quincy was a poorly kept secret in a court in which only Eleanor’s secrets seemed secure Steering Justin toward the comparative privacy of a window seat, Claudine began to scold him lovingly “Why did you not let me know you were back from Winchester? If I’d had some warning, I could have coaxed the queen into giving me a free afternoon But she’s not likely to be in any mood to grant favors now, for this latest exorcism of hers is bound to fail.” Others might not have understood the joking reference to exorcism Justin did, though, for she’d confided to him that her private name for John was the Prince of Darkness As he looked upon the heart-shaped face upturned to his, the thought came to him, unbidden and ugly: What did she call John in bed? He drew a sharp breath, not wanting to go down that road He knew that she was John’s spy Was she John’s concubine, too? He pushed the suspicion away, to be dealt with later Now he must concentrate upon the danger at hand How could he conceal his knowledge of her treachery? Surely she must see it writ plain upon his face Apparently not, for her smile did not waver Those brown eyes were bright with laughter and temptation Justin was shaken to the depths of his soul as he realized how much power she still wielded over him How could he still want this woman? She’d betrayed him without a qualm Even worse, she’d betrayed her royal mistress and kinswoman, the queen And she’d almost seduced him into betraying the queen, too For more than a fortnight, he’d kept her guilty secret, at last unburdening himself to Eleanor in a surge of self-hatred, only to find that she already knew of Claudine’s perfidy But Claudine must not know that she’d been exposed If John learned that his spy was compromised, he’d look elsewhere Eleanor had been able to act as if her Available now Author’s Note John’s conniving is a matter of historical record, as is the siege of Windsor Justin’s participation was, of course, a case of dramatic license Unlike my historical “sagas,” my medieval mysteries have a mixed cast, those who actually lived and those who live only in my imagination There is no need to document Eleanor of Aquitaine’s subsequent history, or that of her sons, but readers might be interested in the fate of one of the secondary characters: Master Serlo of the Mercer’s Guild eventually became Mayor of London As I explained in my first mystery, The Queen’s Man, there was no Bishop of Chester Chester lay in the diocese of Coventry and Lichfield, and although the title Bishop of Chester was used during the Middle Ages, it was an unofficial usage And as I invariably mention in my historical novels, I use the medieval Welsh spelling for St Davydd, as this is more phonetic Modern Welsh would spell it Dafydd In researching The Queen’s Man, I discovered that medieval detectives labored under certain handicaps, among them, no DNA testing, no fingerprints, no forensics But in Cruel as the Grave, Justin and Jonas did not have to worry about warrants or the admissibility of evidence, so perhaps it all evens out As long as I get to write about Eleanor of Aquitaine and her fascinatingly dysfunctional family, I have no complaints S.K.P February 1998 Acknowledgments I’d like to thank the following people in particular for their support and encouragement: My parents, the most loving critics any writer could ask for Valerie Ptak LaMont, who did so much to keep Justin and me on course Kyle LaMont, who provided insight on Justin’s estrangement with his father Earle Kotila and Jill and John Davies, who help me to keep the faith The editor who has been my mainstay from my first book to—hopefully—my last, Marian Wood My longtime English editor and friend, Susan Watt And my agents extraordinaire, Molly Friedrich and Mic Cheetham Lastly, I’d like to thank the readers who welcomed my first venture into the mystery realm, and were generous enough to write and tell me so Feedback from readers is truly worth its weight in gold About this Book AD 1193 England lies uneasy, a land without a king Richard the Lionheart has not returned from Crusade, his brother John conspires to usurp the crown On the throne, in the Lionheart’s stead, sits Eleanor of Aquitaine She is determined to prevent the outbreak of civil war, but there are few she can trust Justin de Quincy – a man without title or land – is one of the few April: Richard the Lionheart languishes in an Austrian dungeon, prisoner of the Holy Roman Emperor While Eleanor of Aquitaine searches for a way to free her eldest son, her youngest plots to seize the crown When John seizes Windsor castle, Eleanor summons her trusted agent, Justin de Quincy, to the impossible – mediate a truce with her rebel son De Quincy cannot but heed his Queen’s demand, but he is already ensnared in another matter: the cruel murder of a young girl, daughter of an itinerant Welsh peddler He is determined to bring her killer to justice and nothing, not even the threat of war, can keep him from pursuing her murderer Reviews The Queen’s Man “Penman is a superb storyteller.” —The Miami-Herald “Once you enter Penman’s world, you’re hooked.” —Seattle PostIntelligencer “Energetic and adroitly plotted Justin is so beguiling, and the action so lively and unpredictable, that readers will cheer Justin’s return in further adventures.” —Publisher’s Weekly “Well researched, credibly plotted, realistically detailed, and undeniably entertaining.” —Library Journal “A glowing, living tapestry This is storytelling at its finest” —The Philadelphia Inquirer “Full of swordplay, bawdy byplay, and derring-do, The Queen’s Man is a full-bodied historical romp, steeped in period detail.” —The Houston Chronicle Cruel as the Grave “Masterfully told… Penman’s authentic period details, larger-than-life characters and fast-paced plot add up to great reading for both mystery fans and history buffs.” —Booklist “Penman writes about the medieval world and its people with vigor, compassion, and clarity.” —San Francisco Chronicle “Penman’s lively, articulate prose brings to life history as it could have happened–high praise for a historical mystery.” —Houston Chronicle “Sharon Kay Penman tells her stories with passion and a strong sense of time and place.” —Margaret Frazer, author of the Sister Frevisse novels Dragon’s Lair “A pleasure to read.” —Publishers Weekly “A polished and absorbing historical mystery.” —Kirkus Prince of Darkness “Penman deftly weaves actual historical events into the narrative with nary a false note.” —Publishers Weekly “The historical detail is scrupulously accurate without being presented as a history lesson.” —Library Journal About this Series THE QUEEN’S MAN SERIES AD 1193 England lies uneasy, a land without a king Richard the Lionheart is feared drowned on his return from Crusade, his brother John conspires to usurp the crown On the throne, in the Lionheart’s stead, sits Eleanor of Aquitaine At seventy, Eleanor is the most powerful woman in Christendom, mother of both Richard and John and no stranger to the vicissitudes of royal family politics She is determined to prevent the outbreak of civil war, but at court treachery is endemic and there are few men she can trust Justin de Quincy is bastard-born son of the Aubrey de Quincy, Bishop of Chester The Bishop never acknowledged Justin, bestowing on the boy – in lieu of name or fortune – only an education As it happens, it is a gift that will make de Quincy a ‘Queen’s Man’ taking him to the very centre of power – and into the heart of danger Moving from the royal chambers in the Tower of London to the alehouses and stews of Southwark, from the horrors of Newgate Gaol to the bustling streets of Winchester, from to the mountains of Wales to the wild coasts of Brittany, de Quincy will prove his mettle – or find an early grave – as he uncovers the dark intrigues of Eleanor’s court I The Queen’s Man January 1193 De Quincy is charged by a dying man to deliver a bloodstained letter to the Queen and finds himself caught between two hunts: one for a killer, the other for the throne The Queen’s Man is available here II Cruel as the Grave April 1193 The murder of a young girl interferes with de Quincy’s mission to deliver a message to Count John, currently besieged in Windsor Castle Cruel as the Grave is available here III Dragon’s Lair July 1193 As the king languishes in an Austrian dungeon, a ransom payment goes missing in Wales, itself wracked by rebellion and intrigue Into this maelstrom, Eleanor sends her trusted man, Justin de Quincy Dragon’s Lair is available here IV Prince of Darkness December 1193 De Quincy must aid his former foe, the King’s brother John, and unravel a conspiracy that threatens to change the course of history Prince of Darkness is available here About the Author SHARON PENMAN is the author of eight critically acclaimed historical novels: The Sunne in Splendour, Here be Dragons, Falls the Shadow, The Reckoning, When Christ and his Saints Slept, Time and Chance, Devil’s Brood and Lionheart She has also written four medieval mysteries Her first, The Queen’s Man, was a finalist for an Edgar Award for Best First Mystery from the Mystery Writers of America Her other mysteries are Cruel as the Grave, Dragon’s Lair, and Prince of Darkness She lives in New Jersey A Letter from the Publisher We hope you enjoyed this book We are an independent publisher dedicated to discovering brilliant books, new authors and great storytelling Please join us at www.headofzeus.com and become part of our community of booklovers We will keep you up to date with our latest books, author blogs, special previews, tempting offers, chances to win signed editions and much more If you have any questions, feedback or just want to say hi, please drop us a line on hello@headofzeus.com @HoZ_Books HeadofZeusBooks Dedicated to great storytelling First published in the US in 1998 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc First published in the UK in 2013 by Head of Zeus Ltd Copyright © Sharon Penman, 1998 The moral right of Sharon Penman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988 All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book This is a work of fiction All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously 975312468 A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN (E) 9781781857052 Head of Zeus Ltd Clerkenwell House 45-47 Clerkenwell Green London EC1R 0HT www.headofzeus.com Contents Cover Welcome Page Dedication Epigraph Chapter I: April 1193: Tower of London England Chapter II: April 1193: London Chapter III: April 1193: Winchester Chapter IV: April 1193: London Chapter V: April 1193: London Chapter VI: April 1193: London Chapter VII: April 1193: London Chapter VIII: April 1193: London Chapter IX: April 1193: London Chapter X: April 1193: Windsor Castle Chapter XI: April 1193: Windsor Castle Chapter XII: May 1193: Windsor Castle Chapter XIII: May 1193: London Chapter XIV: May 1193: London Chapter XV: June 1193: London Preview Author’s Note Acknowledgments About this Book Reviews About this Series About the Author An Invitation from the Publisher Copyright ... enemies, bound by blood Here in the torchlit splendor of the Chapel of St John the Evangelist, they’d fought yet another of their battles As always, there was no winner They’d inflicted wounds that... Quincy was the queen’s man But he’d been befriended by two of their own—Gunter the smith and Nell, who ran the alehouse—and their friendship was Justin’s passport into their world Gunter was alone... from a nearby table; the occupant was about to protest, then thought better of it As the flame flared between them, Justin was pleased to see that the corner of Durand’s mouth was swollen Rarely